A family of hedgehogs, fenced round into their own little domain, amused Geraldine mightily, as she watched the smallest curl himself up into a ball at the approach of Apollo, who thought him a delightful plaything till the prickles touched his tender tan nose, and he fled howling.
There was no time to-day to visit all the varieties of poultry, and the horses were in another direction, and formed another object for Edgar’s drives; for though he could never mount one of them, the love of horseflesh was in his nature, and he liked to have them led out for his inspection, and had always plenty to say about their condition and management. To-day the little party crossed over the open turf of the park to a large pond, where Edgar cultivated varieties of aquatic birds. He was very proud of the black swans and the beautiful Muscovy ducks, the teal and the widgeon, which he had induced to breed among the reeds, rushes, and tangled grass that clothed its banks. Geraldine stood at the pony’s head, while Wyn plunged into the rushes, waded and scrambled till he had driven the little flock of tiny dark ducklings into his master’s range of vision.
Edgar was pleased; but his attention was less free than usual, and presently he said abruptly to Wyn:
“So you’ve got a cousin come to stay with you?”
“Yes, sir. Mother’s got her to see what she’s made of, and get her suited with a place.”
“What’s her name? Where does she come from?”
“Florence Whittaker—leastways, she says it’s Maud Florence Nellie, which is a many names, sir, for one girl, don’t you think?”
“Will she come to the Sunday school?” asked Geraldine.
“I don’t know, ma’am. Shall I say as you desire her to come, Miss Geraldine?”
“Yes, do. There are never any new girls in Ashcroft. She isn’t too old, is she?”